Candles
by WannaPlayKevinBacon
Summary: AU James Hawke is driven from his hometown of Lothering by Darkspawn, and it's up to the aspiring teacher to find his way through a world of cults, corruption and intrigue. The story of DA2 set in a "modern" Thedas. Various romances, some of them slashy.
1. Evacuate The Dancefloor

Lothering was quiet, and the children were laughing and playing in the large harvested fields that had recently been overgrown with wheat and corn. James Hawke stood by and watched over them, leaning against a tree. There was an air of calm in the late summer heat, and he could smell a storm on its way; the electricity of it also tickled the hairs of his arms, awakening the power inside of him. He concentrated and pushed it away, returning to a sense of calm. For now, he was simply charged with watching over the children as they played; teaching, he would have to work for, and revealing himself as a Mage would almost certainly ruin that as well as get his entire family run out of town.  
The Mages had once been a religious order, a cult that experimented on their captives until children started to be born with powers that were dangerous and otherworldly. Most captives fled, raising their children as normal as they could until the abnormalities were revealed. The Chantry was formed under a cultist named Andraste, and she used fear of the new mutant mages to draw in members. The Chantry trained soldiers called Templars to hunt down mages where they were either killed or enslaved. Soon, Mage no longer meant the cult, but the genetic condition, and those who still held to the old ways were Blood Mages. Mages hid and raised families, and soon it was nearly random for a Mage to pop up in a bloodline. Andraste died, but her faithful remained, still razing Thedas in search of their enemies.  
James Hawke was lousy with the Mage gene on both sides, Amell cousins on his mother's side and his own father Malcolm has been a Mage, his younger sister as well. James was the bravest Mage in the family, trying to push it aside and join society the way he believed he deserved. He wanted to teach, and so he had put in the time and the effort, and was right on the verge of his first big break.

* * *

And then the war had broken out. A small battle his brother's division had been assigned to spiraled out of control, and thousands of monstrous Darkspawn had descended on Lothering, leaving the residents helpless. The school had been a massacre, and James had barely survived himself, crawling over bodies and rubble to reach the exit. Lothering was dying, a screaming, writhing spider covered in poisonous ants that wielded swords and ate half of their victims. James avoided most of the spawn, using his powers to keep them away when they took interest. He fought his way to his family, relieved to find them alive. Carver was there, and Bethany was trying to heal his bigger wounds, "Nice of you to join us. I thought you died at that school of yours."

"I'm sorry. I came as fast as I could. It's a war zone out there. Mother, we have to get out of here, out of Lothering."  
"Everywhere South of here is burning. Are we supposed to take our chances in the wilderness?" Carver said.  
"Kirkwall, we have family there," Leandra said.  
"Mother, Kirkwall is heavily controlled by the Chantry. If they even smell Mage on us we'll all be slaves," Bethany said.  
"I know that, but its a good city. There are good hospitals and good schools."  
"As long as you aren't a Mage," Bethany muttered.  
"We can talk more when we're safe," James begged, "They'll be here any moment."  
"I have the photo albums," Leandra said, "And your father's things."  
"I bet the cabs aren't running," Carver muttered sarcastically.  
"We can find a car once we're out there. I'm fairly certain no one will care if we steal a dead person's car," James said, "There are plenty."  
"Shit, everybody just stay behind me until we find one," Carver snapped, loading his shotgun, "I have six rounds, that's all."  
"I'll help," James offered, "I'll watch our backs."  
Carver nodded and kicked the door open, leading them into hell.

* * *

"James look!" Bethany cried, leaning forward to the front seat and pointing, "People!"

There were two people, man and woman, on the side of the road. The woman was in army fatigues that matched Carver's and the man was in civilian clothes, his shirt was shredded over his shoulder and blood soaked the cloth. James slowed and Carver elbowed him, "They aren't our problem!"

"I have to help," James said, screeching to a halt.  
They didn't give him time to reconsider, hopping into the backseat. Bethany tried to tend the man's wound as the woman spoke, "You're a sight for sore eyes," the woman said, "We wouldn't have made-"  
"Mage!" The man hissed at Bethany, and James could see the Templar tattoo under his left eye in the rearview mirror, "Avert your eyes!"  
"Wesley!" the woman scolded, "They saved us; Andraste understands."  
The man calmed, and James raised an eyebrow, "Is he alright?"  
"I'll be fine," Wesley said, but Bethany knew better than to try her healing again.  
"I bandaged it as best I could. My name is Aveline; the last member of Cailen's ground force."  
"Second-to-last," Carver said, "Sorry to disappoint."  
Aveline turned to him and recognition flooded her face, "Do you have ammo?"  
"One shell," Carver said, "You?"  
"Two rounds," Aveline said, "Wesley lost his gun."  
Wesley winced, "Just as well, I won't be shooting anything any time soon."  
Bethany looked relieved, and James cleared his throat, "Where did you two come from? South?"  
"No, we came down the road from the interstate. It's blocked completely by the Darkspawn. We'll have to find a side road around it if you plan that route."  
"We are going to try for the coast, catch a boat to Kirkwall," James said.  
Wesley laughed, "A Mage going to Kirkwall? You must tire of living. It's just as well; the Chantry will-"  
"Shut that up!" Carver snapped, "As right or wrong as you may be, you're being saved by a Mage so lay off!"  
"Wesley this isn't like you," Aveline said with a frown.  
Wesley's eyes had dulled and the skin around them was black, his lips were purple and his face pale, "It's the Blight," Carver whispered.  
"No," Aveline said, "It's just the smoke. He'll be fine."  
"He'll infect us all," Carver said to James.  
"He's right," Wesley said, coughing up black blood and wiping it away with the back of his hand, "I can feel it Aveline... please. It's tearing me apart from the inside."  
"We can get you to a hospital," Aveline said stubbornly.  
"Even if we could, there's no cure. They said to kill anyone you find with the Blight," Carver said.  
Aveline found James' eyes in the mirror, "It's your decision," James said, pulling to the side of the road.  
Aveline climbed out behind Wesley, "Are you sure about this? It's the only way?"  
"Yes love, I'm sorry. The Blight means a slow death... I'll turn mad. Please... remember me as I am, the man you married. I love you."  
"I love you, Wesley," Aveline said.  
Wesley took Aveline's gun and placed it in her hand, lifting it to his head. Aveline's eyes welled with tears, but it only took a bit more pleading for her to pull the trigger. Bethany and Leandra let out quiet little screams as the shot rang out.  
Wesley's body fell and Aveline climbed back into the car, "I'm sorry, Aveline," James said.  
"I think I'll stay with you, if its all the same," she said.  
"Of course."

* * *

They made it to Gwaren with little more incident, abandoning the stolen car outside of the metropolis and using public transportation to reach the docks. Carver and Aveline used their IDs to get ammo rations, enough for an emergency, and a few medical supplies that could come in handy on a boat. The doctors on passenger ships were few and far between and usually inexperienced, but they had Bethany.  
After pooling their meager resources they managed to get passage on a ship headed for Kirkwall directly. They would share one room with three beds and nine meal vouchers a day. Leandra and Bethany shared a bed, Aveline and Carver on their own. James slept on the floor nearest the porthole, murky moonlight helping the waves rock him to sleep that first night and all the nights following on their long journey.

* * *

Kirkwall was no vacation spot, large and loud and impatient; it's spirit was reflected in its people. Several immigrants fleeing the Blight had piled up here, and the city had stopped taking those without passports. Leandra had the presence of mind to bring hers and Carver's, but James and Bethany-being mages-had no paperwork whatsoever. The passport screenings were very thorough and tiresome, something almost no Mage could overcome in secrecy, especially young mages. And so while Leandra and Carver went into the city to find her brother Gamlen, the three of them waited amidst the thousands of refugees.  
Gamlen was far from the wealthy family connection they needed, more of a grouching leech than a relative. He sold James, Bethany and Aveline into servitude to some illegal merchandisers in exchange for fabricated passports. For a year, they worked, and James did his best to keep the family together, but like all islands will, they drifted. Aveline joined the police force. Bethany went to work at a bar called the Blooming Rose, a place specializing in herbal teas and "healing" massages. When James' work for the smugglers was done, he simply fell into the cycle of eating and sleeping that had made Carver so grouchy over the past year until finally Leandra stepped in, "You need to get out more. You look terribly bored cooped up in here. It's a bit safer here in Kirkwall, easier to disappear into a crowd."  
"Mother," James sighed.  
"Well why don't you go and apply for a teaching job? Maybe helping the refugee children?"  
She prodded, nagged and hinted until James could stand it no longer, "Alright, I'll go out. Thank you, mother."  
Leandra touched his shoulder as he opened the door, "Take your brother."  
James tensed but nodded without turning; with Carver trailing him, he left their government housing and stepped into the harsh sunlight.

* * *

Lowtown was abuzz with merchants, drifters, the downtrodden and the wicked. Keeping his mind focused, he tried to comb through the crowd without brushing up against any pickpockets or prostitutes. Carver remained quiet, to his credit, and the walk up the stairs to Hightown was pleasant if a bit tiring. Weaving through markets and nobles, James came to a stop outside of the city square, the crowds crawling to a standstill as traffic jammed in the entrance, "Come on," James said, "We'll cut through here."  
They broke from the crowd and went through an archway that was decorated with a language he barely recognized. James couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement-an educated excitement-at the sight of so many dwarves. Carver wrinkled his nose, "Dwarves."  
James glanced at his brother but kept quiet as he made his way through the dwarves in the midst of arguments and business deals. A young human man bumped into James and he instinctively reached for his money, turning to see the man running, "Hey!" He shouted after him and gave chase.  
Before the man got far, a loud shot made the entirety of Hightown fall silent. A dwarf stepped forward, holding a large, impressive firearm, "I once knew a guy who could take every coin in your pocket just by smiling at you," he said, taking the money back from the pickpocket before letting the boy scramble away. He tossed the money to James, "He was an Antivan crossdresser, made more money in a night of hooking than anybody else I knew made in a week. The name's Varric Tethras."  
"Hawke," James replied, "Thank you."  
Varric nodded, shouldering his gun, "Why don't you join me for a drink at the Hanged Man in Lowtown later? I'm in the second floor suite."  
James smiled, "Alright, drinks it is."  
Carver watched the dwarf leave and wrinkled his nose, "I'm not going to a bar so you can score with a dwarf."  
James turned back toward the square, "You weren't invited."

* * *

A/N: Not much to say yet; one tiny FYI, the chapter titles are dance song titles that sometimes but not always elude to the chapter's happenings. Hopefully i didn't miss any glaring typos but if I did feel free to point them out! Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	2. Bangarang

A/N: Chapter 2! Big thanks to those who read and reviewed so far. I'm introducing the characters slowly but pace will pick up as I add more. Also, so far everything is pretty much in James' point of view, but it will eventually branch out as his world grows

* * *

The afternoon saw James filling out the forms of application he had picked up in Hightown. Leandra hovered nearby, beaming with pride, "My son is finally going to realize his dream," she said happily.  
"A lot of forms," James said, "I'll try to find someone who will make me an ID... That'll take a few days."  
"Oh just tell her," Carver snapped, "A dwarf invited him for drinks at the slum bar."  
James scowled at his brother and Leandra gave him her trademark look of disapproval, "James, is that really wise? You're a young man from a small town and-"  
"I'm not Bethany," James interrupted, "I'm not running off to become an exotic whore. He helped me and I won't be rude."  
James grabbed his jacket and pulled it on before storming out into the light evening drizzle of Lowtown. Leandra didn't give chase, and he was grateful; it was too early to meet Varric, but the rain cooled the city enough to make it bearable even with the heat of the factories that dotted the busier streets. James made his way through the crowd to reach the bazaar, perusing goods he could not afford and most of which he wouldn't know how to use if he could. There was a stall that caused him to pause, shirts with the various symbols of Mages and staffs that some mages used. James had his father's golden staff back at Gamlen's apartment. Carver had demanded he pawn it but he had refused. Though it may be a dangerous heirloom to possess, it was the closest thing James had to Malcolm Hawke left, and he would never let it go.  
He saw a pair of gloves set on a silver stand and he picked them up with curiosity, "Them are a real treasure," the storeowner said, "Let a Mage channel their magic without using a staff. Good for discreet work, if I were a Mage, I'd get my pair before the Andrastian's get em banned."  
James looked startled, trying to play the innocent peruser, but the man didn't care enough to study expressions. All he read was the language of coin, and when he turned away to speak with another shopper, James pulled the gloves on and left the money in their place, keeping his eyes down as he quickly left the stand to continue window shopping. After a bit of practice, James found he really could channel magic into and through the gloves without detection, much more secretive than a staff and much more effective than barehanded magic. By the time he'd bored himself with the bazaar, the setting sun was turning the sky red, and he made his way to the Hanged Man.

* * *

The bar was dark, lit only by blacklight and strobing neon, and loud, so loud that even James' thoughts came on the upbeat of the vicious dance music. Looking down, he saw the blue glow coming from his gloves and quickly took them off, shoving them into his pocket as he hurried to the steps. As he ascended, the blacklights were replaced by warm incandescence, and the music became a deep heartbeat below. There were only two doors off the hallway, and James knocked on the one not marked with a glaring "EXIT" sign, "Come!" came the barking response.  
James stepped into the large suite, spotting Varric on a leather couch near the door. Two women were on either side of him, screaming with laughter; they left with winks and waves when James came closer, "Friends?"  
"Lowtown women aren't free friends, Hawke," Varric said.  
James thought of Bethany and chuckled, "Hightown women either," he agreed, "But I didn't really come to talk about women."  
"Nah," Varric, "What's to talk about?" He leaned in, "I heard about you, and I am in need of a capable hand."  
"Oh my hand is very capable, but I have to ask, how did you hear of me? I'm hardly a noble."  
Varric made a face, "Perish the thought! Athenril said you do good work, discreet and smart work. I'm looking for a partner, a third split in funding for an exposition my brother and I are taking underground."  
"You don't say," James sighed, standing, "Well I'm no smuggler, I'm a teacher. I'm also just above the poverty line and not by enough to brag about certainly. I'm afraid you'll have to find-"  
"Sit, Hawke," Varric said, and James did, "Teacher you said? Then you know they take blood from every application for city work?"  
James paused, a chill creeping through him. The dwarf was holding this fact over his head, so he knew what James was, "What kind of expedition?" he asked softly.  
Varric grinned.

* * *

"Bullshit!" Carver barked, "You can't believe everything a dwarf says!"  
"I also can't afford to run out on a blood test. You know what they do to people who refuse. They'll force me and I'll be caught," James said, his head swimming with a nice calm drunk that dulled the stab of his current and enduring misfortune.  
Carver wrinkled his nose, "You're drunk. You never give up this easily."  
James looked up at Carver, his black eyes a little bloodshot and his black hair hid his face when he looked down again to avoid the light, "I'm not drunk enough," he said, "What choice do I have? After escaping Lothering you want me to walk up and put myself in the hands of the Andrastians? I suppose then you'd be heir to this filthy hole we crawl in to escape the rain."  
"Forget it, I can't talk to you when you're like this," Carver said as he stormed out.  
James let his head slam onto the table. It was all gone, any hope he had of realizing the years of work he had put in to teaching. Was he to become a common thug, stalking the streets in search of weak men, women and children he could prey upon? Was he to turn away from his father's memory so sharply? Bethany had easily enough, convincing herself that pouring watered down tea and giving sweaty, leering nobles handjobs underneath filthy tables when they didn't pay extra to bend her over in a back room was a fitting career.  
He had long given up on his childhood dream of a happy family, children and a loving spouse. Of course, James' daydreams never really included women, even as a child. He suspected he could blame it partially on being raised by Leandra, or perhaps his father's insistence that they could be anything, anyone that they wanted. Besides, Carver seemed straight enough, offended at all the right times by the men James chose to stare at from faraway like the wallflower he was. As far as talking with Carver about it, James never had. Speaking with Carver was painful enough when the subject wasn't personal or awkward, and James was no masochist. He thought back to their most recent conversation, Carver arguing with everything and then simply running off; still it was one of the more pleasant conversations they'd had. Carver had been insistent, nagging, almost... encouraging?  
James sat up like a shot and stumbled to his feet. Carver had stormed off because James was being an ass, and Hawke had to apologize, make Carver understand. Hot, damp air hit James in the face when he opened the door and stepped outside. He hurried down the stairs, pulling one glove on as he held the other in his teeth, trying to steady himself. He heard shouts off to his right and he began to walk quicker, trying to remember whether he'd seen Carver's shotgun in its normal place by the mantle or not on his way out.

* * *

When he turned to corner that led to the elven projects, he saw them. A group of thugs had surrounded someone; their quarry was fighting viciously, but a few of them had switchblades, and one was trying to pull a handgun out of a stubborn holster. The streetlight illuminated the boy's face, and James saw a touch of fear in Carver's eyes. One of the men kneed him in the stomach, and when he bent over, the wind knocked out of him, another thug came from behind, fumbling with Carver's pants. It was immediately clear that the man wasn't looking for a wallet, and even from several yards away the animalistic expression on their faces told of their intentions.  
James' hands made fists and he extended a hand, channeling mana through the glove and sending out a volley of lightning. Screams and the smell of burned flesh reached him as he charged forward; James found Carver and grabbed him protectively. At first the young man fought, but then recognition flickered across his face, "Brother," he breathed.  
"I'm here," James said, closing his eyes and forcing out invisible energy in all directions, knocking those men that had gathered their wits enough to mount another approach in all directions. A couple of them struck the outer wall head first and remained still in puddles of their own blood.  
As the man who had been at Carver's back stepped forward, deviant glee in his eyes and finally managing to pull his gun free, he was thrown violently aside. James closed his eyes as blood in a fine mist sprayed them, "Sniper!" one of the survivors shouted, and they tried to head for the stairs in escape.  
James threw a fireball, the heat of it building in his heart, boiling down his arm and spreading at his fingertips before launching and engulfing the few remaining men. They all fell, screaming until the smell of death and gore was all that was left, "Good thing I shave!" came a jovial call, "Or I'd be a few whiskers short!"  
James watched the man as he came down the stairs the men had been trying for, "Varric."  
"You are a lot more than a teacher my friend."  
"But you already knew that, of course," James said grimly, "I have to get Carver home. Thank you, Varric."  
"My pleasure, Bianca here just loves playing vigilante."  
James looked at the rifle in the dwarf's hands; it looked army issue, but somehow more, with modifications he didn't recognize but he was no military man. Maybe Carver would enlighten him once he was feeling up to it, "Lets go," he said gently to his brother, and led him away from the carnage.

* * *

"Oh my little boy!"  
Carver sat heavily on his bed, "Mother, please."  
James stepped in between them, "Mother, go and get Bethany, please. Take Gamlen."  
Gamlen scowled but stood up slowly, like old men do, and left with Leandra, "He's more apt to get her killed than she went alone," Carver said.  
"Who we're those men, Carver?"  
His brother's eyes went to the floor, "Slavers, from Tevinter, they said that much to each other, and they wanted to... test the merchandise."  
James hugged Carver tightly like they were children again, "I'm sorry. I should have been with you."  
Carver pulled away, "Don't... tell Mother?"  
"Of course, there's nothing to tell. I'm going to deal with those slavers, though. Varric will help us; he gave us a job."  
"Both of us, or just you?" Carver asked.  
"Where I go, you go," James said, "For as long as you want."  
"Then I'm with you," he said, "We'll put a stop to those slavers." He stretched out on the bed, "I'm going to need a rest first. Thank the maker you made it when you did, not sure I could have bounced back from that."  
James nodded, "I'll wake you when Bethany gets here," he said as he rose and left the room.  
He stood by himself out on the landing for a while, smelling the coal fires of the foundries and the salt air blowing up from the docks. In the darkness, a woman cried out, and James shivered, sitting at the top of the stone steps. He stared at his feet, puzzled when blue reflected in the leather of his boots; he lifted his eyes to see an elf at the base of the stairs, "Are you Hawke?"  
James straightened, "Who are you?"  
The elf didn't answer right away, "I need help with the slavers."  
"Do you know what they're after?"  
The elf stepped forward, revealing markings that showed remarkably through his jeans and black tank top, and his hair was shocking white. He looked around cautiously and then met James' eyes, "Me."

* * *

Fenris was not a Freemarcher by birth, but instead hailed from Tevinter, the only country left in Thedas that allowed slavery. James found it disgusting, though he couldn't complain about the company, the Tevinter dialect, subtle and made even more intriguing by the sensual growl of the elf's voice. Fenris had come to him for help, having heard from Varric that he was good at fighting slavers; it hadn't taken Varric long to start bragging on his newest hireling. James could kiss Varric, for sending the elf his way, with his green eyes that looked into James' soul and took a chunk back with them. Despite his voice, the looks, James' feelings, Fenris had one glaring, ugly flaw. He hated mages.  
Fenris groused about Mages at every chance, distrustful and biting, but there wasn't much about it that James could place blame on. Fenris had been enslaved by mages, tortured and disfigured by magical tattoos in the proud, corrupted tradition of the ancient scientist magisters. Every time James saw the tattoos, he knew that to Fenris, they were the symbol of the Mages' evil ways. Fenris was none too kind when he caught James staring, "See something you like?" He snapped.  
James was torn out of his daydream, "What? Oh! Fenris I'm sorry I was just looking-"  
"What? The slave not interesting enough for you to pay attention to?!" he growled.  
"What? No! I-"  
"I don't need your sympathy!" Fenris barked.  
James couldn't help but laugh, "You're ready to cut me off at every pass aren't you?"  
Fenris avoided his eyes, staring into his beer, "What are you talking about?"  
James moved closer, leaning in until Fenris met his eyes, "I like you, and I think you like me. Why push me away? We're going to kill those slavers and you'll be a free man. You already are a free man." James grabbed his hand and squeezed, feeling the shock of the secrets embedded in the blue lines by the Tevinter Mage.  
Fenris jumped, pulling away as if burned, "Hawke," he said, his normal growl something soft and intense all at once.  
When Fenris' eyes met his, they were sad, full of some sort of longing; the blue lines twisting just below the elf's bottom lip caught James' eye and he moved in for a taste. The kiss was desperate and full of stolen breath and quiet groans. James broke the kiss to trace Fenris' bottom lip-now filled out in a sensual, masculine pout-with his tongue.  
"Wait!" Fenris breathed, his hand on James' chest to hold him at bay. Sparks were tearing through his body without mercy, the markings singing out with James' magic.  
James stared at Fenris, unaware that Carver had stormed out and Varric was scribbling notes on a cocktail napkin, "Too fast?"  
Fenris struggled for a decent breath, his mind spinning, "Let me finish my beer," he muttered, pounding the drink as James laughed.

* * *

A/N: Well there you go, chapter 2. It went by kinda fast as far as writing. I hope the same for 3! Anyway, thanks for your reads and reviews everyone! See you soon!


	3. Gangnam Style

James led Fenris from the table, holding his hand. The elf pulled away but when James turned, Fenris kissed him hard and passionate. James could feel sparks between them, and he broke the kiss, watching Fenris' markings flash as he slid his fingertips up the elf's bare arms. Fenris shivered and backed into the room before James pushed him against the wall and kissed him again.  
Varric stood from his table and checked over his notes, "Sure just use my bed. You'll both hang off the end and I'll pay a fortune in dry cleaning, not to mention you live about ten feet away," he muttered as he closed the door to his private quarters behind him, leaving the lovers alone.  
"Did you hear that?" James asked, looking over his shoulder.  
"No," Fenris said, though he had. He wasn't about to lose James' attention to the dwarf, not now.  
Fenris' markings were humming, and he knew the man was a Mage, before this really; he'd always known. It was easier to pretend otherwise, to lessen the sting of his lustful need for James Hawke. Even false ignorance was bliss.  
James was preoccupied, exploring Fenris upper body-at least what he could get to around clothing-with his mouth. He felt the hardness between them and rocked his hips forward to hear Fenris groan. Seconds later, Fenris' hand found its way inside James' jeans and it was the mage's turn to moan, "Fenris."

* * *

Fenris' back arched and his chest heaved, his entire body rebelling against his struggle for control; with every touch, kiss, thrust, he gave a little more of himself to Hawke. The man inside of him was in complete control and Fenris was unable and unwilling to resist. This was nothing like his time with Denarius, when Fenris had retreated into himself until it was over, barely feeling a thing. Instead he couldn't even string a full thought together before a new wave of pleasure jerked him back into the present. James' dark eyes staring into his own as they both fought to catch their breath in a cloud of whispered pleas and cries of ecstasy, lost in the sensual maze of each other's sweat-slicked bodies.  
When climax came, it came hard, wracking Fenris' entire body and traveling the channels that his markings made. He cried out despite his struggle not to and bit into James' shoulder. The way the mage moaned and bucked his hips signaled his imminent orgasm, but Fenris' head began to swim, his vision blurring. He muttered the mage's name before his mind was pulled away, on the verge of memory. Fenris struggled to grasp at what he could almost see, but then it was gone, and he was looking up into the concerned face of James.  
"Fenris? Are you alright?" He asked.  
Fenris sighed, "I'm alright," he said, still puzzled by what had happened.  
James looked guilty, "I'm a Mage, Fenris."  
"I know," Fenris said, and off of James look he continued, "I have always known... I can feel it when you touch me."  
Fenris stared off across the room in the low light, wishing this conversation wasn't happening, "Are you upset?"  
Fenris shook his head, "I'm fine. This was fine. No, no I mean-"  
James looked suddenly sympathetic, "Are you thinking about De-"  
"Don't," Fenris said, "Don't say his name. This was my choice, Hawke," Fenris said, "Mage or not, I wanted you and I still do though I am having doubts about my own judgment."  
James seemed satisfied and leaned in for another kiss, "We should get out of here before Varric gets Bianca."

* * *

"I don't know about this."  
"Oh come on, Hawke. You got this. Just get in there and get it done," Varric prodded.  
James met the dwarf's eyes and hardened his gaze, nodding, "You're right, get it done."  
"Besides, it's not like I'm your first."  
James stopped, in the middle of pulling his second glove on, "First?"  
Varric chuckled, "Employer, Hawke. While I've managed to get some sordid details out of the elf, my knowledge of the status of your virginity is strictly hearsay. Your work for Athenril, however, I've seen for myself."  
"Lovely," James muttered, stepping into the warehouse. His normal sweater vest and khakis had been replaced by a tank top and jeans, and, while still leather, his shoes were boots instead of loafers. He stopped to light a cigarette with the flick of his hand and glanced around the entryway before striding into the dark storage area. Huge metal crates held tons of merchandise and textiles waiting to be sorted and distributed. James was looking for a specific one, and it didn't take him long to find it. The cherry of his cigarette illuminated the white painted letters when he took a drag, exhaling through his noise as he set his mouth in a look of determination.  
James closed his eyes and charged the gloves, the tiniest sizzle sounding as they sang with power, "Hey!" came a shout.  
James turned and froze as a large man marched up to him, "You heard the boss, no smoking in here!" The man slapped the cigarette out of James' mouth and stomped it, "One stray spark and some of these crates could take out half the docks, moron!"  
James' look of confusion must have been appropriate because the man looked satisfied as he turned on his heels and marched off, nose in the air. James quickly turned and let his power flood the code pad on his crate; it whined and smoked in protest, but gave a click as the crate unlocked. The Mage smirked and slipped inside, using a palm-sized fireball to light his way. The crate was packed with boxes, and James opened one casually, already sweating from the fire and close quarters. The way the sweat slid down his back reminded him of Fenris, but it faded quickly when he saw his cargo, a box stuffed full of explosives. He quickly let his flame go out and stumbled backward, almost falling out of the crate altogether, "Fucking Varric," he growled.  
Freezing the lid back onto the box for safety, he picked it up and managed to back out of the crate with it without falling or exploding. When he turned around, there were six large men staring at him. James gave his best innocent smile, and the largest one shouted, "Kill him!"  
"Wait!" James said, throwing one hand up. The men froze in one solid block of ice and James grinned, "Thanks," and made a quick exit.  
Varric greeted him outside, "Great work."  
James scowled, "As soon as I put down this very heavy box, you and I need to have a talk."  
"Ok so it's explosives."  
"Explosives that could have killed me," James agreed.  
"I'm not a crazy man. I just like getting our supplies for the expedition at a discount. It's the dwarf in me."  
"As hilariously racist as that is, it does not make me any less angry," James said, "I wish I knew what Carver was so angry about. I really could have used his help in there. I'm not exactly musclebound," James reflected.  
"That's not what the elf says," Varric said cheerfully, "He says you carry it all in your pants."  
"Looks like its two people I'll be adding to my list instead of one."  
Varric chuckled, "You can't exactly blame the elf. I got him drunk and more or less put the words in his mouth. Which is nothing compared to what you put in his mouth."  
"Varric!" Hawke cried in surprise, "I had better not catch any of this in one of your books. Fenris and I are not having depraved sex."  
The dwarf cleared his throat, his laughter dying down, "Tell that to the people up in the Chantry."  
"Alright well to the Andrastians a Mage having gay sex with an elf covered in magister experiments is probably almost as bad as it could get."  
"Almost?" Varric asked, opening the door of his brother's office when they reached it.  
"I could be sleeping with you," James said, setting the box down carefully.  
Varric barked a short laugh, startling the dwarven woman sitting at a desk just inside the door, "Get out of here, Hawke," Varric chuckled, "I'll send the money to your Uncle's place."  
Hawke nodded to the woman and left Varric behind, heading home.

* * *

Carver stood as James walked in and left, "Carver?" James said, but didn't follow his brother, "He hates me," he told Leandra.  
"No love, he has always been a sensitive boy, always striving to be the best at everything, even when perfection itself isn't good enough for him. He just has his moods."  
"I know of his moods," James muttered, then sat heavily at the small table in the main living area, ignoring the usual dirty look Gamlen shot him.  
Leandra sat beside him, "I wish you two wouldn't fight. I barely see Bethany anymore and..." She stopped as her eyes teared up, "Oh now look what you two have me doing."  
James smiled in spite of himself and hugged his mother, "It'll be alright. I'll find a way to make peace."  
"You always do," she said as she dabbed her eyes with her sleeve, "That's why I worry James. Look at you... you look like a street thug, and you're smoking. Don't try to deny it; I can smell it on you. What is happening to you?"  
"I don't know," James said, standing, "But for better or worse, I'm changing. There's no helping that."  
"Don't let this business with the Andrastians upset you."  
"Mother this has nothing to do with those tyrants," James said.  
"You lost your dream, the teaching. Don't act like you're over that in a few weeks. Ever since you could talk you've been blabbering about teaching. I wanted one of my children to achieve their dreams."  
"I'm sorry, Mother," James said, walking to the door, "But Mages don't get to live dreams."  
Leandra watched him go, "Oh my little boy."

* * *

Hightown was not just a place of official buildings and clean cut wealthy people with more money than sense. It was a place of dirt and depravity, sex and scandal; it was the place of the Blooming Rose, where the girls all had painted lips and rouged knees, where all of the above was filthy inuendo and where they spent more time kneeling than in the Chantry's pews. It was Sebastian Vael's-Brother Vael to his followers-favorite place in Kirkwall. He stepped in, dressed in white with his hair slicked back and a smirk on his face. A few girls recognized him and gave little waves, but knew better than to expect any recognition in return. Sebastian sauntered to the desk where Viveca was taking names, "The usual?" She muttered to him, barely looking up.  
"No," Sebastian said, "I want something new, something... exciting."  
Viveca looked up at him, "Look, I'm a busy woman. See something you like, come tell me." And with that she turned away.  
Sebastian passed a hand through his hair and turned to look around the large room, surveying the girls with a casual air. That was when he spotted her.  
She had dark eyes, dark hair and beautifully pale skin; when she laughed he felt his heart skip a beat. This was no ordinary whore but a woman, an attractive one. Sebastian straightened his tie and swaggered his way to her table, sitting beside her, "Nice night."  
She looked at him and smiled, instantly engaged, "It is, a little hot maybe."  
"Sweat is the mark of hard work," Sebastian said, "May I ask your name?"  
"Bethany."  
"Well Bethany, are you a hard worker?" He asked.  
Her hand moved from the bench where they sat, snaking over his thigh to his crotch and squeezing gently. She leaned in so that her lips grazed his ear, "I'll make you a hard worker," she whispered.  
Already half hard from her flirtations, he smirked, "Why don't you take me somewhere so I can take you?"  
She giggled and stood, "I hope you're a big spender."  
As she led him out of the foyer, he chuckled, "My dear, there is nothing you can do to any part of my body that I can't afford."  
The look she gave Sebastian told him that she intended to try her damnedest. His hand found her butt as they walked down a hallway where a half dozen couples were in various stages of intimacy, and he squeezed so hard that she squeaked and laughed, "I hope you know I'll return the favor."  
"I counted on it," he said, following her into a room and grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her in and stealing a hot, wet kiss.  
Bethany moaned against his lips before pushing him against the closed door. She met his eyes before sliding down to her knees, "Why don't you just relax," she purred as she unzipped his pants.  
Sebastian opened his mouth to reply, but when her mouth engulfed him, all he could manage was a groan.  
The giggle that she responded with reverberated through him and he grinned, leaning his head back against the door. Her mouth was as skilled as it was dirty, and her hot tongue tickled him in all the right places. Sebastian's breathing quickly got away from him and he growled Bethany's name as he pulled her soft, thick hair. She didn't seem to mind, her dark eyes meeting his boldly when he glanced down at her.  
Sebastian cried out when he came, his face flushing, "You have the lips of a demon, Bethany."  
She looked quizzical when she sat back, "You've had a demon suck your cock?"  
Sebastian brushed her hair away from her face, "I have now."

* * *

"James, dear, you have a visitor."  
James looked up from his book and stood, "Aveline?" He smiled, "I didn't expect to see you here anytime soon."  
"I've come to yell at you," she said, "For becoming a common thief, and for not coming by to see me and also for dating a dangerous elf." She smiled, her expression softening, "And I came to tell you I've missed you."  
When she stepped forward, James hugged her and chuckled, "I'm just making the best of it and-"  
"And smoking," Leandra pointed out.  
"And making some money," James said, eyeing his mother impatiently, "I'd like to move mother out of this hovel and into one of the nice suburbs they're putting up in Hightown."  
"Closer to the Chantry?"  
James waved that off and sat back down at the table, "I'm not afraid of them. They've got no reason to hunt me. I'm not on their radar."  
"Until you started stealing weaponry. They're looking for a Mage, James, and I know it was you."  
James stood so quickly that his chair fell backward to the floor, "What are you saying?"  
If Aveline was surprised or intimidated, she didn't show it, "Sit down, Hawke. I'm not here to make an arrest. I'm giving you a warning. The dwarf Varric is working for, his brother? He's an untrustworthy son of a bitch. He'd sooner turn you in than pay you for your services, and Varric can only do so much to protect you."  
"It's a good job."  
"Then I'll give you a job, not as an officer-I don't have that kind of authority-but strictly off the books. I heard of an ambush in the mountains up where the smugglers run," Aveline said.  
"Sundermount? That's rough terrain, Aveline," James said.  
"Rough terrain that we both know like the back of our hands. The Captain isn't interested in investigating but I know my leads are a sure thing," Aveline said with a smile, "So?"  
James stared at her for a long, tense moment and then grinned, "Where do I sign?"

* * *

The house was quiet, large and dark. The only light radiated from Fenris' markings and turned everything blue, "Are we sure about this location?" Carver asked, "I don't want to end up slaughtering a houseful of rich people."

"My sources are good," Varric said, "Besides if any normal person was home we'd be covered in cops by now."  
"Denarius was here," Fenris muttered, "I can feel him."  
James flexed his hands, popping his knuckles; magical electricity danced across his hands up to his wrists as he prepares for a fight. Suddenly he felt a tingle in the back of his mind, like an ugly thought, "Get ready!"  
A door to James' left suddenly burst open, and a volley of shades-the kind of creatures James had only heard stories about-swarmed through. At first, James froze, then when bullets began to whiz past him and rip into the shades. He gathered mana into the gloves and forced out an explosion of electricity, doing his best to miss the others.  
When the last of the shades fell, Carver took the time to reload, "What the fuck were those?!"  
"Shades," Fenris growled, "The magisters create them and use them like guard dogs."  
"Does that mean Denarius is here?" James asked.  
Fenris shrugged and walked through the door that the shades had burst into. They followed him, weaving through corridors and batches of shades. When they came to the main staircase, Fenris' markings were blinding, "He's here," he muttered, but the emotion was evident in his voice.  
"Ah, my little wolf," came a purring voice.  
James shivered at the sound of it, and looked up at a man standing above them, leaning over the balcony, "Denarius!" Fenris shouted and darted up the stairs after him.  
James followed, running through the shades that rushed to Denarius' aid and held up Carver and Varric. Fenris reached Denarius and aimed a point blank shot between Denarius' eyes. The magister waved his hand and the bullet turned, flipped and sank itself into Fenris' chest. The elf stumbled back and went over the balcony, falling past James and landing heavily on the first floor, "Fenris!" James cried and turned, rushing back down to his aid.  
Fenris was conscious, just barely, "Go after him," he muttered, weakly pushing James' hands away.  
"I can't leave you."  
"Go!" Fenris shouted as loud as he could, causing himself obvious pain, "My life is worth less than his death."  
James set his jaw as Carver and Varric reached them, "What are we doing?"  
"Kill him," Fenris growled, "Please."  
Carver turned and instantly ran up the stairs straight toward Denarius, "Carver!" James called, but when no answer came he picked Fenris up, "He needs a hospital, Varric."  
Fenris struggled, "No hospitals. Denarius will be looking for me there!"  
James looked upward when he heard gunshots, "Maybe he's dead, but ok, no hospitals. I know someone who will help, someone close." The Mage took a step before pausing and turning, "Varric, take care of Carver."  
Varric nodded and James hurried back toward the entrance, Fenris' bloodloss finally rendering him silent.

* * *

A/N: Whew this one took me a bit longer, sorry! Thanks for the Follows and Reviews! I appreciate them!


	4. Ghosts & Stuff

A/N: Thanks to everyone who followed, fav'ed or reviewed!

* * *

"What a mess," Bethany said.

"Will he be alright?"

Bethany waved for her brother to follow her away from the room, "The bullet's out, and I repaired what I could, but I'm dead tired. With another healer or just one more skilled... Well I think he'll be ok, but keep him here in bed for a few days at least."

James sighed, "He'll love that."

Bethany smiled, "I'm glad you found someone, brother. He's pretty cute."

"I wish you would quit the Rose and come home," James said, "Mother misses you."

Bethany rolled her eyes, "I'll have her out of Lotown before you do," she teased, "Besides, I enjoy my work. Now I know you don't intend to spend our entire visit grousing at me. Tell me what's been going on."

James smiled and lit a cigarette, "Well, I found work, for a dwarf who's planning a big Deep Roads expedition to open up some old caves. Carver's been going along with me when he isn't pouting and I met Fenris."

"So when did you steal explosives?"

James gave her a look, "You've been talking with Aveline."

"She comes by for her daily lecture," Bethany said, "I swear, if I didn't see that angry mother face of hers every day I'd think she was dead."

James shook his head, "I didn't know what they were. It's just like our work for Athenril, basically, no questions asked."

Bethany gave him a look, "James you shouldn't just follow orders blindly, take requests like... like some-"

"Whore?"

"I thought you wanted to teach," she said patiently.

"They take blood," he said, "Check DNA. I can't risk that. Carver can't take care of mother and you're... busy. I'm just trying to provide for us."

Bethany nodded, "Well, maybe all of that stuff Father told us was a lie. Maybe no matter how hard you work and how many people you help... the world just turns on you. Maybe his real talent was bullshitting."

James didn't look up when she left, "I hope not," he mumbled to himself, staring down at his hands.

* * *

The next morning, Hawke went to Hightown, to the police barracks where Aveline stayed. She met him outside, "Are you ready? The ambush is set for this evening. It'll be a long trip."

James shrugged, "I've nothing else to do. Bethany assured me that Fenris would sleep through the day. Varric has some finance meeting with Bartrand and Carver seems to hate me even more today. I'm not much but I'm willing to help."

"You're all I need," Aveline assured, "Now come on, it's a fine day for sightseeing."

"Hopefully not entirely on foot?" James asked as he followed.

Aveline led him around the large building to a parking lot where patrol cars lined up in their spots, each one sleek and clean and intimidating. James whistled appreciatively and Aveline smiled, "It's nothing too special, but they're dependable and it'll hold a lot more emergency supplies than we can."

"If I hear 'tent', I'm leaving," James said.

Aveline chuckled, "Don't worry. It's a single day round trip, barring any unforeseen disaster."

"I prefer my disasters to be foreseen," James said, "I require a three day notice."

Aveline shook her head, "You've been spending too much time with that dwarf. Get in."

James climbed into the passenger's seat, "Mind if I smoke?"

"It's alright by me as long as you run beside the car," Aveline said, then more sympathetically, "Nervous, Hawke?"

James looked out the window at nothing, "I know I'd be doing Fenris no favors by sitting at his bedside and staring at him forlornly like Mother."

"But it's what you'd rather be doing?" Aveline guessed.

"Let's just... not drag our feet," James said.

"Can do, Hawke."

It wasn't a particularly long trip to reach the base of Sundermount, but the patrol car was made for pavement, so they left it when asphalt gave way to gravel and continued on foot. The weather was on their side, and James was thankful that he'd never been used to cars and the hiking came easy. Sundermount was beautiful in summer colors but somehow not as hot as the city, lacking the smell of industry and desperation. There were birds and bugs and occasional squirrels and rabbits, but beyond that neutral chaos, nothing but peace. Something about Sundermount, whether the lack of Andrastians or the abundance of fresh air, put him at ease, "You know, this place isn't as bad as the stories you hear."

"It's still dangerous, Hawke, and we're here for a fight. Don't let your guard down," Aveline lectured.

"Yes ma'am," James said with a salute, "Crushing paranoia? Check."

"Idiot."

Back in the city, a tiny rebellion was forming in the mind of Carver Hawke. James got everything first, the way big brothers do, but little brother was never far behind to pick up toys discarded. With James off galavanting on Sundermount with Aveline, Carver had a brief window to pick up this particular plaything and he had no intention to hesitate.

Bethany seemed surprised to see him, "Go rest; I'll stay," he told her. When she hesitated he pressed, "Go on. I'll call if anything happens."

Looking relieved and guilty, she rose, "Thank you Carver. I'll just duck out for a little fresh air, maybe something to eat." She glanced over her shoulder before leaving.

Carver nudged the door shut with his foot and pulled a chair to the bedside, sitting in it backward and letting his eyes play where they wanted. With no big brother to watch him, Fenris was prey unguarded. He stared so hard that his eyes began to burn and he stood with a sigh, pacing the small room. The elf was beautiful even in such a state, markings dulled and wearing an expression of suppressed pain. Carver briefly wondered-as he had several times since the relationship between James and Fenris had started-if his own feelings were real or simple jealousy, "Maker, who cares," he muttered.

What James had, Carver wanted, and just as in childhood, a big enough tantrum usually got Carver what he wanted.

* * *

The ambush was strange, six men well armed and looking nothing like usual thieves; Aveline had done most of the work, but James had done her the favor of taking a bullet to the arm. It was a superficial wound, far from arteries but plenty painful, even with the minor first aid Aveline could provide.

She did her best to watch out for both of them, but his mutterings and frequent stops got her turned around, "Hawke."

"What?" He grunted.

"We're lost."

"Fuck," he said, leaning against a tree and inspecting his hastily bandaged wound, "I hate this damned mountain."

"Stop picking!" Aveline scolded, slapping his hand, "Just keep your eyes out while I get my bearings."

"Fine, I'll watch for dragons." James could see the occasional shadow move, the odd rustle of leaves, but never enough to startle him.

Aveline seemed entirely preoccupied, but only she saw a glint of metal in the trees, "Sniper!"

She went down with James as a bullet struck the dirt beside them, and by the time James pulled his face out of the dirt and let out a groan of pain, there were three men in front of them, "State your business, Shem."

"Shem?" James whispered.

"The Dalish," Aveline muttered, "Nothing that you need be concerned with," she snapped, "We're here on police business."

The elf who had spoken wrinkled his nose, "You have no right to be here, walking right through our camp."

"Please," James said, "We're trying to get off the mountain. We didn't even know you were here. We're lost and I've been shot."

The remaining two elves that hadn't spoken muttered to one another, "You'll see the Keeper," the talkative elf said, "She will decide what to do."

Aveline rolled her eyes but James nodded, both of them standing, "Thank you."

The elves didn't speak to them anymore, speaking only to one another and only in Dalish, "So what are Dalish elves exactly?" James asked, "I know they're nomads. They brought the carnival to Lothering every year."

"They're elves," Aveline said, "What's to know?"

"Fenris is an elf," James said.

Aveline sighed impatiently, "And I'm a woman. We all have our faults, but I don't expect special treatment."

"Do they want special treatment or just to be left alone?" James asked.

"They can't just expect to squat up here and own public property, especially waving guns around. It's madness, Hawke. Fenris and the Dalish couldn't be more different."

James shook his head, "I just think you're backpedalling."

Aveline's cheeks turned red but the elves had quieted, and so had the woods, "We must be close to the camp," Aveline said.

"Lovely."

* * *

Fenris stirred just as the sun set after another round of healing from Bethany. He passed Carver, who was sleeping, and padded to the bathroom. After a hot shower, Fenris' chest loosened up and he breathed easier. He returned to the bedroom, a towel around his waist, "Fenris?" Carver asked.

Fenris sat on the bed and leveled his gaze on Carver, "What happened to Denarius?"

Carver let his head drop, "I'm sorry. I went after him, but I couldn't cut it alone."

"How did I get here?"

"James brought you. Bethany healed you," Carver said.

Fenris scratched his head, "He didn't go after Denarius."

Carver felt the corner of his mouth twitch involuntarily, "No, James let him get away. I tried my best."

"Where is Hawke?"

"He went off to Sundermount with Aveline," Carver said, "They're very close. I stayed behind to watch over you."

Fenris exhaled and stretched out on the bed, looking lightheaded, "I should go."

"Stay, rest," Carver said, standing, "I'll find something for you to eat." He spared one last glance at Fenris before closing the door behind him and calling for Leandra.

* * *

"Ahh what the fuck is she doing?!"

"Just a moment, child. My dear, would you hold him still?"

"Certainly," Aveline said, moving forward and holding James' arm down against the table.

"I thought we were friends," Hawke muttered, though his expression and demeanor were decidedly pathetic.

They were inside the large tent of Keeper Marethari and the elf was healing Hawke's arm which-unfortunately- had to begin with the removal of the bullet, carefully pulled back out through the channel it has created. Every spark of magic that caused the tiniest twitch made Hawke cry out in pain, and ten minutes in, he was nearly blind in agony, envying Fenris for being unconscious during Bethany's work.

Each movement of the bullet-when Hawke managed to keep quiet-made a slick, meaty sound that even Aveline couldn't ignore, "At least missing dinner turned out to be a good thing," she said, bracing against Hawke again when Marethari asked her to.

When the bullet finally came free, a gush of blood followed it, and Marethari pressed her hand over the wound, healing it faster and easier than even Bethany could. Hawke let out a tiny groan as the pain faded and the cooling magic spread down his arm, "Maker, I'm never going anywhere with you again, Aveline."

"He will be fine," the Keeper said with a gentle smile.

Hawke sat up, "Thank you, Keeper," he said.

Marethari was kind and wise, despite Aveline's insistence that all Dalish elves were asses. Hawke was reminded of what it must feel like to have a grandmother every time she called him "child", but as pleasant as she had been, their situation was still urgent.

"I hate to bleed and run," James said, "But I need to get back to the city. Someone is... waiting for me."

"Of course, I will have you escorted to your vehicle. First, I must ask that you return the favor. My daughter Merrill wishes to leave the clan and I wish for you to take her to Kirkwall with you," Marethari said.

James looked at Aveline and then back to the Keeper, "Take her with us? What do we do with her once we're there?"

"We don't have time for this," Aveline grumbled.

"Elves in your cities are segregated into Alienages," Marethari said, "I understand that she will have to find accommodations there."

James glanced at Aveline and then squared his shoulders, "If those are your terms, Keeper."

"They are."

"Then we have no choice but to agree," James said, "Where is she?"

* * *

At the Hanged Man, the music was loud and fast, the lights low and the liquor strong; it was the perfect atmosphere for what Carver planned. After a bit of coaxing-and subtle James bashing-Fenris had agreed to join him for a drink or two. The young Hawke wasted no time, finding them a quieter booth and ordering drinks; a subtle movement of his hand and the seed had been planted-in Fenris' drink, to be specific-for an interesting evening.

Fenris took small sips of his beer and the back of Carver's mind tickled with paranoia. Could he taste it? Had he seen? But Fenris gave one of his small, shy smiles and Carver knew better. He downed his drink and pushed the empty bottle aside, "Fenris..."

"Carver."

The simple utterance of his name made Carver's heart jump, and suddenly emboldened, he blurted, "I want you. I want you so badly that I went after Denarius. I've been trash-talking my brother and I slipped something into your drink."

To Carver's surprise, Fenris chuckled, so quiet that Carver didn't hear it over the music, but the elf's expression gave it away, "You didn't."

"I did," Carver muttered.

"No, you gave it to yourself."

Carver blinked and wondered if he'd misheard, "What?"

"I saw what you did, so I switched our drinks. I wanted to be coherent to tell you a few things," the elf said.

Carver looked down, feeling ashamed and stupid but mostly he felt terribly, irrevocably aroused, and his body was quickly catching up to his mind in that aspect. He asked himself how he could have been so stupid, "Go on," he slurred.

Fenris took a breath, toying with his beer before taking a large swallow, "I know how you feel, pushed underfoot while others around you get to live their lives. You feel like you're always..."

"In his shadow," Carver muttered, trying to listen despite the insistent ache in his pants.

Fenris gave another half smile, moving to sit beside Carver instead of across from him, "I only slept with James because I thought you wouldn't be interested in me."

Fenris' hand found Carver's lap and the elf rubbed the spot shamelessly; Carver stiffened at first in surprise and then closed his eyes as his mind spun around him like the club's colored lights, "You're mad."

Fenris shrugged, his hand slipping into Carver's pants, "I'm not experienced in this. When you're a slave, you only have sex when you're ordered to by your magister, either with him or with another slave for breeding. I've never been able to choose or try to convince someone else to choose me."

Carver opened his eyes but they only succeeded in rolling back into his head. He rubbed them and exhaled, "I don't... think you're allowed to do that in here."

Fenris pressed his lips against Carver's ear, "You'd rather go somewhere else?"

Carver shivered, "Home," he groaned.

"I'll take you home," Fenris said, standing and helping Carver to his feet as Varric watched from the balcony.

* * *

It was a short trip back to Kirkwall with someone to speak with besides just Aveline who was being oddly quiet. Merril was an elf, from the tips of her pointed ears to the soles of her bare feet; she seemed more closely related to a butterfly than a human, and her smile was contagious. Aveline couldn't have hated her more if she'd walked right up and spat in her face, and the police officer was acting as if she truly had. James, on the other hand, was delighted by her lack of human understanding and the blunt and awkward honesty with which she carried herself.

For all the good company and lack of severe injuries, James was still exhausted, "I think I'm going to crawl in bed and stay for a week."

"What about Fenris?" Aveline asked.

"He can scoot over."

Aveline chuckled while Merrill leaned up closer to the metal grate separating her in the backseat, "Who's Fenris?"

"He's... a close friend," James said, unsure what wording the elf would comprehend and not quite jumping at the chance to explain 'gay' to a wood elf should she not already understand the concept.

"Oh that's nice," Merrill said, "Um... Hawke, was it?"

"Yes, Merrill?"

"When you're not busy, would you show me around Kirkwall a bit? Just the important places," she said, seeming nervous.

James smiled, "Of course, after I check on Fenris I'll give you a tour. It'll be fun."

"Fun," Merrill said with a hint of sadness, "Right."

James cleared his throat, "Well I'll be happy to have another friend in the city," he said, "That place is far too dark as it is."

"We're here," Aveline interjected as the lights of Kirkwall came into full view around a turn.

"It's so bright!" Merrill said, "How does anyone sleep?"

"They don't," James said.

Merrill said nothing else, staring out the window as the car pulled into the city. Aveline took them to Lotown and stopped in front of Hawke's home, "Alright, go in and see your elf."

James smiled, "I'll come find you when I'm done, Merrill."

Merrill nodded, completely distracted by the city around them. James climbed out of the car and jogged up the steps to the door. His mother made a strange face when she saw him, but he couldn't be bothered until he'd seen to Fenris. He pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside, turning on the light, "Fenris."

James saw only Fenris' back, stretched and arched in passionate ecstasy, hands on his hips-Carver's hands. James froze, his mind trying to make sense of what he saw until Carver spotted him, giving him a taunting smirk.


	5. Wildcat

A/N: Hi everybody! Thanks again to all of the reviewers, readers and followers! This chapter contains some drug use, just FYI.

* * *

James was a wreck, like the sort on a busy road with shattered glass and splattered blood and curious onlookers. Tiring of his audience, James had gone for a stroll into Darktown, the epitome of "bad parts of town". The smells were different, and the heat of Lotown was more intense than Darktown's humid underbelly climate. The people were different as well, angry and seemingly just as willing to shoot him between the eyes as pickpocket him. There were no police, no Chantry do-gooders or merchants, but it had a natural current like the rest of Kirkwall, schools of people darting like minnows and carrying along those with no purpose or direction. James was definitely one of those people tonight; he wanted to burst in on Fenris and Carver and demand an explanation. If not for James, Fenris would be dead and Carver wouldn't have a new fuck buddy. How Fenris felt, James couldn't say; he'd stopped trying to figure that out the first day he'd met the elf, looking vulnerable and paranoid, those green eyes pleading for his help.

"Stop it," he muttered, rubbing his face with his hands to try and scrub the thoughts away.

"Oh I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."

James looked up and saw a blond smiling at him from the doorway of hovel that he was sweeping. He looked down and shoved his hands into his pockets, "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I wasn't aware-"

"Don't worry," the man said, leaning on his broom, "I won't hold it against you. What brings you down here?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Ooh mysterious," the blond mused, "I had no idea when I got up this morning that I'd have a handsome stranger show up just outside my humble hovel."

James was conflicted. Was this man flirting with him? He was cute, blond with a kind voice and a gentle smile, something not common in Darktown, but James was still reeling from what he'd seen, from the look Carver had given him. Love was not on his radar now, and flirting wasn't either. Hesitantly, he spoke again, "Bad breakup, you could say."

The blond nodded, "Well normally I only heal the sick and injured, but maladies of the heart can be just as harmful. Come on." He stood and offered his hand.

James reached up and took his hand, feeling a current of magic pass between them that quickly faded; he knew then that this man was a Mage, "You're a-"

"Not out here," he said, leading James into the hovel and closing the door behind them, "It's not much, but make yourself comfortable."

The inside of the hovel was in sharp contrast with the outside; everything was clean and organized, and there were several metal tables in the main area that looked like medical tables. Several chairs were folded up along one wall and three big shelves sitting opposite were obviously old army medicine cabinets despite their new paint jobs, "You live in a clinic," James observed, "Are you a doctor?"

"Yes, I have as much training as they'd allow me in the Circle and some that I managed to get with a fake ID in Ferelden. A lot of my training is in magical healing though, but I like to be well rounded. I'm making coffee. Would you like a cup... well I don't know your name."

"Hawke," James said, "And yes please."

"Nice to meet you Hawke. I'm Anders," he said, pouring two cups of coffee, "It's not as strong as the stuff you can get back in Ferelden but it's got enough caffeine in it to keep you up for days."

"I don't expect to be sleeping much," James said, sitting on one of the folding chairs.

Anders walked over and handed him the coffee, "Do you want to talk about it?"

James took a sip and winced, "Didn't you say this wasn't strong?"

"Sorry, I guess I make it pretty dark for a Kirkwaller like you," Anders said.

"I'm from Lothering."

"Ah, you have no excuse then," Anders chuckled, "I'll get some milk."

* * *

James was comforted by Anders' presence, his kind words and his friendly smile. Opening up was easy with him, and before long Anders knew most of James' life story, all but the most important subject, "I was gone all day. It wasn't supposed to take that long. We got lost and... by the time I got home, Fenris and Carver were in bed, my bed. Carver saw me and he actually smiled at me."

Anders brought the third cup of coffee, sitting across from James, "I'm sorry, Hawke. Sometimes we hurt the ones we love simply because we fear losing them forever."

James chuckled, "I'm not so sure that Carver would mourn losing me. I've been a thorn in his side since we were young. I think it's because I'm a Mage. Father gave his attention to Bethany and I. Carver was left at home with Mother. She spoiled him."

Anders chuckled, "It's hard to please everyone, I suppose."

"What is your family like, Anders?"

Anders was quiet for a moment, "I don't really know," he said, "I was pulled away by the Andrastians when I was very young."

"I'm sorry," James said.

"I know that my mother tried to protect me; they killed her. My father was glad to be rid of me. All of that I heard from the Templars," Anders said.

"How did you escape? From the Circle, I mean," James asked, "I've heard it's impossible."

Anders looked at the clock, "That's one for another time. We should get to bed."

James wasn't eager to go home, but he tried not to show it as Anders walked into the back room, "Alright," he said.

"Coming?" Anders called.

James stopped, his hand hovering over the doorknob and turned, puzzled. He took a deep breath and strode toward the room, slowly pushing the door open. It was a larger room than he expected, full of medical books, extra supplies and-perhaps most importantly-two beds. James saw the staff leaned against the wall and Anders followed his gaze, "You still use that?"

"From time to time," Anders said, taking off his watch, "It's mostly sentimental since I don't need it for healing. I feel naked without it."

James closed his eyes when his brain instantly began picturing Anders naked. He rubbed his eyes and when he opened them, Anders' back was to him, his shirt off. A tattoo, large and intimidating stretched across his shoulders; it was a griffon, from what James could tell, "When did you get that?" He mused.

Anders turned and forced a small smile, "Just old friends," he said, "An old mistake. Goodnight Hawke."

James knew there was more, but Anders had already crawled into bed, so he flipped the light off and did the same, his mind surprisingly tired despite all of the coffee he'd downed.

* * *

Sebastian was not a weak man. He was head of the Kirkwall Chantry along with the Grand Cleric who everyone more or less just tolerated until she wandered away. Meredith, Knight Commander of his Templars, liked to think she had freedom, but every woman could be conquered, and Sebastian knew exactly how to do that. One good orgasm-not good, great-would usually afford him control over any woman he wanted. Weekly visits with Meredith kept her in line, and the Chantry sisters, though chaste, knew very well what he was capable off. A soft hand, a gentle smile, eye contact and the little nuns were stumbling over one another to cater to him. The housewives were his favorite, dissatisfied with their husbands and begging to give confession in his office with the door closed and her skirt hiked up around her waist. No, Sebastian was not a weak man, usually.

One woman was proving difficult, unconquerable, stubborn and proud; just the thought of her smile made his cock twitch, and it was difficult to keep himself from uttering "Bethany" against the backs of all the spoiled sluts he bent over his desk on Sundays. She was in his head, and if he could rip her out with a pithing needle, he would have happily done so. Instead, he marched into the Blooming Rose, threw money at her and fucked her silly, hoping each time that her hold on him would cease, but it only grew stronger.

After weeks of frustration, he found his way to the Rose after finding his way to the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, and he fully intended to tell her off, "Sebastian," she purred when he approached, and he hesitated, "You're here on a Sunday. That's unusual."

"Don't talk to me about my schedule," he snapped, "It's none of your damned business."

She laughed at him, standing and taking his hands, "Started the party early tonight didn't you?"

Sebastian tried to look away, but she had him, and when she leaned up to kiss him, he was done for. He tried to be dominant, told himself to pick her up and throw her onto her bed, tear her blouse and bite her shoulder, but instead he placed her gently among her satin sheets and moved over her, his lips tracing her jawline. His hands roamed gently, untying and unsnapping until she lay bared beneath him.

It wasn't long before he had her where he wanted her, crying out and arching and moaning, just like all of the others, but he knew it meant nothing. He could spend every waking moment pleasuring her and still exact no dominance. He was as lost in the sex as she was until her nails in his shoulder suddenly caused a burning jolt of pain even through his shirt.

Fire, and not the metaphorical sort for romantic idiots, but real fire. He could smell the tiny wisp of smoke from his smoldering shirt, feel the fabric singing and burning; it felt similar to the cigarette butts his father would extinguish on his arm when he thought the little prince was being weak. Sebastian buried his face in Bethany's neck and moaned, not in pleasure, but knowing what he would have to do when it was over.

* * *

James stepped into his home like he was walking into a warzone, looking over all of the shattered remains of his naiveté, the fallen corpses of his dignity. He hoped to pack a bag and disappear back to Anders' clinic before anyone was the wiser, but the enemy was waiting for him when he pushed the bedroom door open. Carver sat on his bed, smiling again when James came into view, "Hello brother."

"Carver," James greeted quietly, trying to avoid the inevitable argument.

Carver chuckled, "Took you long enough to come back. You spend the night crying into Varric's big hairy chest?"

James grit his teeth, "Shut up, Carver. You have no right to mock me. It's you who shamed yourself."

Carver scowled and jumped to his feet, "You want to talk about shame? You're a blind idiot. Fenris was never even attracted to you!"

"Don't be a child, Carver," James said coldly.

"He told me you were his second choice. He said he thought I wouldn't be interested, so he settled for you." Carver gauged his reaction and folded his arms, "Now who feels like a child? You're pathetic."

James felt numb and stupid. He kept silent and packed his things; Carver was decent enough to leave him alone. Leandra, however, felt no such compassion, and when he emerged with a packed bag, heading for the door she was at him in an instant, "Where are you going? Where have you been? How could you just walk out without telling me where you were going?"

James turned on her viciously enough to make her step back, "How could I? How could you! How could you just stand by and let that happen and then after I come back trying to retain a little dignity, you scold me like a child? I am not a child and neither is Carver, Mother! You've never cared about any of us but Carver, your spoiled little shit." He turned away and marched out, not waiting for an answer, not waiting for guilt to set in. Darktown might have been beneath Lotown, but it felt like a step up.

* * *

The Hanged Man was quieter during the day, a bar where disgraced men drowned their sorrows. Carver was no such man, nor did he have any sorrow, but he was looking for a certain dwarf who haunted the place. Varric wasn't happy to see him, "What do you want, Junior?"

Carver brushed off the annoying nickname and sat down across from Varric, "I want the next job. I'll help fund your expedition, just like James was going to. I'll do it better."

"Hawke is still my man," Varric said, lighting a cigar, "And I put emphasis on the term, because I don't hire boys."

Carver bristled, "I'm no boy," he growled.

Varric grunted as if Carver had said something inconsequential, "You are, and you always will be, unless you do a lot of soul searching. A man who betrays his own brother won't think twice to screw over an employer."

"That's not-"

"Thanks anyway," Varric said, leveling a meaningful stare at Carver.

"Fine," Carver spat, pushing himself away from the table and standing, "Rot in the Deep Roads for all I care, dwarf."

Varric watched Carver storm out and sighed, setting his lit cigar in the ashtray and leaning back, "Don't look so stressed, Daddy. It's bad for your skin," a voice purred from the shadows.

Varric chuckled, "Don't call me that, Rivaini. People will talk."

Isabela walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around him from behind, "What's the point in living if nobody's talking about you?"

"As much as I agree, I might have my eye on somebody, and having you for a friend is bad enough most days. I don't want people thinking we have sex; I'll never be let back into Hightown."

The Rivaini laughed and sat down where Carver had been, "So who's this Hawke? Is he single?"

"Yes he is and very, very gay," Varric said, pleased with her reaction.

"Well shit,"she pouted, "There has to be something to do here. Tell me I'm not doomed to drinking alone."

"Not at all, there's a perfectly good whorehouse up in Hightown; it's got doors and everything."

Isabela smirked, "Just for that, I'm taking this." She grabbed his cigar and walked to the door, "If you need anything."

"I'll call," Varric said, "Until then, Rivaini."

She gave a little wave and disappeared out into the club. Varric felt the same paranoid tickle at the back of his mind that usually meant trouble, and with Isabela, it was usually big.

* * *

Anders was far from alone when James returned. Half a dozen people were waiting for their turn with the Healer. His current patient, a young boy, was crying loud enough to drown out most of the conversations. James walked over after depositing his bag in a safe spot, "Can I help?" He offered.

"I could use some more antiseptic, from the third shelf," Anders said without looking up.

James went without words and grabbed the large bottle Anders had requested. When he returned with it, he saw over Anders' shoulder the bone of the boy's leg, and felt nausea hit him like a sledgehammer, "Here."

"Sit," Anders pressed, smiling, "I can handle this, and you'll do no one any favors by fainting."

James wanted to protest, but Anders was right. He walked to the area where no patients were waiting and sat, trying not to think about his talk with Carver, about Fenris. Had he been telling the truth? Even so why did it hurt him so much? Had he fallen in love with Fenris in such a short time? By the time he had sunk himself completely in despair, he felt a hand on his shoulder, "I could use a hand with someone now, if you're still interested. There won't be any broken bones."

James stood and looked around the empty clinic, "Where are they?"

Anders smiled, "It's you. I can tell you're upset."

"Some people would find that creepy," James said.

"Mages are nothing if not nosy," Anders replied, "Now, are you going to talk or do I have to make coffee?"

"Maker, no, anything but that coffee," James chuckled, "I ran into Carver. He said some things that were... clarifying I suppose, if a little devastating."

"Go on."

James sighed, "He said that Fenris settled for me because he was afraid to take a chance with Carver. I thought I was falling for him. I probably was. He was my first."

"I'm sorry," Anders said, "I can't imagine how you feel. At the Circle, love is a game we play, chasing each other under the Templar's watchful eyes, always careful not to get close enough to make a weak spot. Sex was sex and that was it... for the most part."

"Sounds better than this," James muttered, then realized what he'd said, "I mean-"

"I know," Anders said, "Don't worry. Kirkwall was made for miserable people. There's always a good way to drown your sorrows. There's drinking, smoking, sex... other things."

James watched as Anders stood and walked to the medical supplies, fishing a bottle from behind the others, "What's that?" James asked.

Anders returned to his side, "Peace of mind," he said, popping the cap and shaking out two pills, swallowing one and offering the second to James, "Might want to sit down."

James sat down in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs and swallowed the pill, closing his eyes.


	6. White Hot Magic

A/N: This chapter contains some gore, enjoy!

* * *

James' eyes opened into a new world, bright and swimming like a flashlight underwater. He felt like he was moving, or that the world around him was, slowed enough in its orbit that he could feel it pulling, pulling him inward. He sensed Anders before he saw him-if he ever truly saw him; the magic was heat, radiating off of him and inviting, beckoning, demanding. Anders was pulsing with it, blue and beautiful. James reached out and the Mage was there; their lips met and the moan that came from James was more color than sound.

Anders' hands found him, somehow, and each touch was blue torture, red ecstasy. Lips met, tongues dueled and from somewhere deep, James heard a cry, low, hot and drawn out like a guitar string. Dizziness, violent and sudden, hit James and he tried to reach for something solid, but he wasn't certain he even had hands to reach with. The way Anders was touching him wasn't helping him concentrate; each time James tried to see straight a wave of pleasure would crash upon him like the Waking Sea on the docks.

If James could grasp any concept, it would have been guilt, guilt for being with Anders-the man was inside him now; he could feel that much-and guilt for not talking to Fenris. He'd assumed Carver was telling the truth but what if he-another wave, another red moan answered by its soft blue echo, head spinning and hands reaching. Sound was color and sight was lost in each burst of breath; smell, his only reliable sense told him little-there was the clinic's smell, coffee and antiseptic, then sex, sweat and ozone like a too-close bolt of lightning.

"Hawke?"

James opened his eyes and saw Anders over him with a cup of coffee, a pair of reading glasses balanced on his slender nose. He was dressed and morning sunlight poured through the window, "What?" James muttered, sitting up. The color was gone and everything was as if the night before was a dream, "Did we...?"

Anders grinned, "I'll never tell," he said, handing James the coffee, "Now get up lazybones. I don't have any patients and I need to make a shopping trip to Hightown."

"You need a bodyguard?" James asked, standing and looking for his clothes.

"Try out there," Anders said, pointing to the doorway, "Pretty sure I saw your pants on the lamp. As far as the trip, I just want company and someone to help drag everything back."

James blushed and rolled his eyes with a smile, "Good, because I'm fairly certain I'm no stronger than you."

"In magic, who knows, but your biceps are as big around as my thigh, not common in a Mage," Anders said, taking off his glasses and putting them away.

"I guess I had to do a lot of farm work," James said, "Father never let us substitute magic for strength."

Anders chuckled, "Templars don't want you lifting anything heavier than a spoon; you might throw it at them."

"Mighty Templars afraid of spoons?" James mused, pulling on his shirt.

"Don't get me started on Templar jokes or we'll never get out of here," Anders said, "Let's go."

James pulled on his boots and followed Anders out of the clinic, into the muddy under city.

* * *

There was nothing but quiet and the smell of old blood and alcohol. It stung Fenris' nose when he woke, wincing in the bright morning sun that poured in like liquid pain. The night before, he had been drunk off his ass, and Carver had shown up even worse. They'd had drunken, clumsy sex that was probably best left forgotten, and Carver had ranted about Varric until he passed out.

Fenris was having misgivings about Carver, increasing each time they were together in bed. It hadn't been a lot, only thrice including the drunken mess that could be called sex only in the loosest of terms. Carver was skilled, gentle, full of stamina, but something was terribly wrong.

Each time climax came, back arched, hips bucking, breath hitching, he was flooded with memories; it was all there, his entire past, every sordid detail, as if he'd suddenly become a different person. Then, just as he began to explore his memory, discovering things he'd never imagined, it was gone. He'd open his eyes with Carver's face buried in his neck, and not a single clue about what he'd just seen. He knew it was everything, but what was everything? It was enough to bring him to tears once, and when Carver saw he begged for Fenris to share with him until Fenris snapped at him with the viciousness Denarius had taught him long ago.

Fenris knew he could simply disappear, leave Kirkwall and continue running from Denarius, but he was spoiled. No longer a refugee, he had a home, acquaintances that didn't use him for sex or berate him, and he had enjoyed two lovers, both of which he would end up hurting by the time it was said and done.

Hawke had been an accidental casualty, an oversight on Fenris' part; he regretted the way Carver had gone about it, but there was no fixing his relationship with James, romantic or otherwise. Breaking things off with Carver would be more difficult; he doubted Carver would simply agree to leave the mansion quietly after Fenris told him he was disinterested. That was a massive lie, and so, to sell it, Fenris would have to get Carver out of the house.

After some planning, Fenris made his way downstairs, started a pot of coffee and waited. Carver wasn't far behind, stumbling down the stairs and into the kitchen, "Maker," he sighed, pouring himself a cup of coffee, "I think I'm still drunk."

"Let's go to the Hanged Man tonight."

Carver blinked, "More drinking? But I haven't even had a Hangover yet." He smiled, a rare sight that made Fenris even more miserable, "I could get used to life with you, Fenris."

* * *

There was a commotion in the Chantry, and Sebastian's office was locked tight against anyone nosy enough to come looking. He'd done something foolish, something sinful, and the Maker always finds a way to strike down a sinful man. Dealing with Bethany had been messy, painful and closer to torture than he liked, but now-Maker willing-it was over. He was safe in his office, staring out at Kirkwall as all of the filthy little ants scurried to do Andraste's bidding-his bidding.

"You know, these robes aren't as bad as I expected. They could be shorter, though. I hope I don't trip on the stairs."

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder and sighed. Irony was a cold bitch, and an Apostate in Chantry robes was his own doing, but it made things no easier, "Just be quiet and fit in."

Bethany sat on the edge of his desk and fussed with her hair, "I'm thankful, Sebastian. You're saving my life by keeping my secret."

"And likely forfeiting my own," he agreed, "I have nothing but contempt for mages, but you are an exception I cannot ignore. I will make sure your name is listed under volunteers. You'll be able to move freely during the day so long as you return to me at night."

Bethany nodded and walked to the door, "Alright."

"And Bethany?" he called, waiting for her to turn, "Don't run from me. I'll alert the Templars."

Bethany's smile faded, but she left without a word, her steps quick and light. Sebastian sat down, reaching back to feel his shoulder where the burn had been; it was gone, smooth, healed at the hands of an Apostate that he loved, an emotion he'd never felt. He busied himself until another presence interrupted his work, "Sebastian."

"I've asked you to knock, Grand Cleric," he said, his tone respectful, a difficulty.

"Usually I know if you're alone by the time I round the corner," she said, then came forward, "Who is that woman to you, Sebastian? Is she pregnant?"

Sebastian's face turned red and he looked up to meet her gaze, "No! She's simply a soul in need of purpose, like all of us. Since when does someone need unclean motives to recruit a fellow Andrastian?"

"Since you started recruiting," Elthina said, "If you would simply accept your role here, the place that the Maker has chosen for you, in your heart."

Sebastian rubbed his eyes, "My parents chose this for me," he muttered, "I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me fail, but my heart went cold a long time ago."

"Your parents are at the Maker's side. They don't care about your failures, Sebastian. Do this for yourself." She gave him a gentle look of pity and turned, sweeping out of the room.

"I plan to," Sebastian said, turning to stare out the window once again.

* * *

The Market buzzed like a disturbed beehive with twice the animosity and half the productivity. Anders was obviously more secretive than James about his identity, wearing dark glasses, a jacket and hat. He did his best to speak like a Kirkwaller and keep his head down. James, on the other hand, looked like a toddler on his first trip outdoors; the place might as well have been Val Royeaux for all the booths and fanfare, "Saturdays are big up here aren't they?"

"Might as well be as excessive as possible before confession," Anders muttered, "Give the Priests more to talk about."

James chuckled, raising an eyebrow when a handful of men passed through; others avoided their gaze and looked frightened. One man, his blond hair cut short in almost military style, met Hawke's eyes and he saw the reason for the fear. Beneath the man's left eye was the Templar tattoo, marring an otherwise beautiful face. James held his gaze as he passed, showing no fear or reverence, "Who are they?"

"Knight Captain Cullen and his little entourage," Anders replied, looking down at a merchant's table.

James scratched his head, "They don't look so frightening."

"If I ever accuse you of being intelligent, remind me of today," Anders said, finally looking up, "The Templars in Kirkwall make Ferelden look like Tevinter or Rivain."

James glanced over toward the retreating Templars, staring until he realized that Anders had moved on, then jogging to catch up, "So what are we looking for here?"

"Anything we can lay hand on," Anders said, "Medicine, first aid, blankets and bedding, all for less than a fortune."

"I'll keep an eye out," James said, "What else do you know about the Kirkwall Templars?"

"Other than their viciousness, they're fairly typical. They treat us like Darkspawn, like one bite will turn a normal man into a Mage." Anders stopped at a table, prompting James to join him, "Nothing can be done to convince them otherwise."

"I thought we hated elves. It's so hard to keep my racism straight nowadays," James said.

Anders didn't laugh, "We aren't a race; we're a mutation, a deviation from the good Andrastian normals. We aren't cursed. We are blessed with the ability to truly help improve the world around us, but we're reviled, feared and locked away. There's..." Anders exhaled, "Enough. Lets just finish this and get back; the sewers have far less shit than this place."

James shrugged and followed, his guard up as Anders grew increasingly tense.

The trip's end couldn't have come soon enough for James, still perplexed by Ander's swift mood change. Only a few moments after being home, Anders became his old self, almost cheerful as he sorted through their haul, "A good day in Hightown, to be sure."

James watched him shelf supplies, leaning against the far wall, "Being out there gets to you doesn't it?"

Anders paused, turning a jar over in his hands, "I guess it does," he said softly, "The Templars... I can't stand looking at them, knowing what they stand for. It's... nauseating."

"I'm sorry," James said, "You've been to the Circle. Sometimes it feels like I've been sheltered. I want to understand, to know what you know."

"No," Anders said, "You don't. Trust me."

James walked over and took the jar, placing it on the shelf, "I would like to understand you," he said.

Anders smiled and let James kiss him.

* * *

Varric was not a man who fell easy, or fell hard-dwarves are usually very close to the ground in body and mind, but something about this girl made him feel like a typical man, horny and stupid. He had also promised himself-and his mother-that he would stick to dwarven women, find a nice surfacer girl and settle down, but that wasn't in the cards either. If he was writing this story, he'd end it in bloody tragedy, a bad idea from the start, but for once, he was content to be the protagonist and not the narrator, so there he was, in Lotown Market following Merrill as she marveled over every single item for sale, listening to the merchants ramble on as if every third word wasn't an audacious lie.

"Varric, if we buy this bottle of pills, we'll never have to sleep again. Isn't that fascinating?" She giggled and then hurried off to the next vendor.

Varric chuckled and followed her, "Why, will it kill us?"

Merrill paused, "Oh I didn't ask that. Do you think that's what it does? That seems very sneaky. Why would they want money to poison people they don't even know?"

Varric blinked, beginning to see why elves were so easily enslaved in the first place, "Maybe they're angry," he said, "Come on, Daisy, drinks at the Hanged Man. I'll buy."

"Alright, you'll walk me home won't you? I still get terribly lost."

Varric smiled, "Of course."

The smile she gave made his heart skip and he looked away, happy to be away from the merchants, the droning of their shouts reminded him too much of the Merchant's Guild.

By the time get reached the Hanged Man, Varric was feeling more himself. The music coming up from downstairs was quiet, for now, and the smell of cigar smoke was sweet and familiar. Merrill was drinking water, refusing alcohol on the grounds that one sip usually made her lightheaded, "So, Varric."

The way she said his name made his heart skip again, and Varric hoped that maybe he was just having a heart attack instead of feeling like a schoolboy with a crush, "Yes?"

"Tell me more about yourself. Do you have anymore siblings? Have you ever been married?"

"Just Bartrand, and I've never been married, just waiting for the right woman to come along and snag me."

"A dwarven woman?" she asked casually, though there was something more in her voice.

"Maybe," Varric said, "Maybe an elven woman."

Merrill giggled and he smirked. There was that upper hand he'd been looking for, "Oh Varric."

Varric met her eyes and leaned in just as his door opened, "Varric."

He folded his arms, "You're late, Hawke, two hours late. I would have come looking for you but Darktown isn't my forte. If I wanted my throat cut for the coin in my pocket I'd go to the Merchant's Guild."

Hawke opened his mouth but Merrill stood, "I think I'll go downstairs and have something to eat. Hello Hawke." She passed him and disappeared down the stairs.

Hawke saw Varric's sour expression and smiled, "What did I interrupt?"

"Don't worry, there will be a lengthy explanation with your docked pay," the dwarf muttered, "What the hell are you doing in the sewers, Hawke? I didn't hire you to catch rats."

"I'm here now, Varric. Tell me what to do."

Varric rubbed his temples, "Nothing, there's nothing to do at this point. We need a route, the safest and shortest one we can get. All of my leads are falling through. Looks like this whole expedition may fall through. So there's nothing you can do."

"How can we find a route?" James asked, sitting on the leather couch, "Who would know?"

"The Grey Wardens," Varric chuckled bitterly, "Aside from that? Nobody who's willing to talk."

"Grey Wardens," James said, "Where do I find them?"

"Let it go, Hawke. Wardens only swoop in on their griffons when Darkspawn attack and beyond that, they're not usually willing to play."

"Griffons?" James asked.

"It's an old insane legend, that the Wardens rode griffons into battle, just a bullshit story and coming from me, that means something," Varric said, "But they do have griffon tattoos, all of them. It's some kind of rite of initiation or something."

James raised an eyebrow, "Anders has a griffon tattoo."

"That witch doctor you're shacked up with?"

"He's... Wait, how do you know that?" James asked.

Varric waved off the question, "I know a lot of shit Hawke. So he's a Grey Warden?"

"He must be. He has the tattoo all across his back, a huge griffon. He'll know a route?" James asked, "Am I rehired?"

"Get the route, and we'll talk business," Varric said, lighting a cigar, "Call if you need me."

James smiled, "Thank you Varric. I know he'll help us."

* * *

"I can't help you."

"What?!" James said, "But you're a Grey Warden!"

"Not anymore I'm not," Anders said, "I left."

James sighed in exasperation, "But wouldn't you still know the way? You must know something. Please Anders I'll do anything."

Anders turned away but paused, "Anything?"

Hawke nodded.

Anders turned back to him, his expression deathly serious, "You'll do anything?"

"Maker, yes, Anders! Name your price," James insisted.

Anders was quiet for a moment, pacing, then he spoke, "I need your help freeing someone. My... friend, Karl, we've been writing back and forth. I promised I would help him escape the Circle."

"So he's a Mage. What do we have to do?"

"Three days ago, he stopped writing back," Anders said, "I wrote him to meet me at the Chantry tonight. I was going to sneak out, go alone but... if you help, my maps are yours."

James smiled, "Thank you, Anders. I'll bring Varric and Merrill. We'll free Karl and everything will be fine."

Anders did not to voice any doubts, if he had any, though he was quiet as they made the journey to Lotown.

James left him outside the Hanged Man, rushing through the crowd of dancers to the stairs. When he knocked on Varric's door, he heard voices, then Varric called him in, "Thanks for knocking this time, Hawke."

James smiled, "I'm glad you're both here. I need your help. Anders has agreed to provide us with Grey Warden maps if we help him."

"Help him what?" Varric prompted.

"Assist a Mage in escaping the Circle."

"Are you insane?!" Varric demanded.

"We should help," Merrill said.

"Of course, how can we not?" Varric said, his tune changing quickly, "When?"

"Tonight, we're supposed to meet him at the Chantry. Anders hopes to avoid a fight but just in case..."

"I'll bring Bianca," Varric said, "I hope this Anders is as trustworthy as you seem to think he is."

"Meet us at the Chantry when you're ready," James said, "Thank you, Varric."

* * *

Anders was on edge, but James did his best to keep him distracted, asking about the Circle, about mages he knew, about the Grey Wardens. Anders was tightlipped about most of it, but he was more than willing to talk about the Circle, "They force you to do everything they want, and when you come of age, you have to do your Harrowing. It's a test of your fortitude, and the First Enchanter and a Templar watch you. If you fail, they kill you. If you take too long, they kill you."

"So the First Enchanter is there to make sure you aren't killed if you succeed?" James asked.

"He can do nothing to stop the Templar," Anders said, "It's a facade."

"But the First Enchanter teaches and protects the younger mages?"

Anders scoffed, "Every herd has a bull but what power does he really hold come time for slaughter?"

James understood the helpless despair mages must experience in the Circle, to some extent, but he had no idea they were on the constant verge of dying with the slightest misstep. How had Malcolm escaped such a place and why hadn't he been more paranoid, or angry, "So why not just kill us all then? Why wait?"

"They don't always kill you. Sometimes they make us Tranquil so we can be of use as slaves to then. It's when-"

"Hawke," Varric muttered, announcing their presence, "Hightown at night is a damn dangerous place. Lets get Daisy in and out of here as fast as we can."

"Oh Varric, I'm fine," she mused.

"Nobody has been in or out since we got here," Anders said, "Thank you again for helping me."

He led the way into the Chantry, darkness lit only by blood colored candles that burned dangerously low. The red light reflecting off of Anders made him look tired, and put James on edge, his magic swirling inside him like unsteady seas. They started by checking rooms, the small ones off of the main sanctuary, mostly just velvet upholstered pews smelling of sage and sandalwood, but one room was different. Even when James touched the door, he felt dread, but it was Anders who opened the door, stepping past him.

The smell of blood was unmistakable, and another gory, thick human smell he couldn't recognize. Everything was clean, gleaming and sanitized; a single needle rested on a podium near the front of the room. It was about ten inches long, intricately carved and made of silver. Anders picked it up, studying it for a moment before putting it in the pocket of his jacket, "I thought dwarves were the only ones who had the balls to steal from a Chantry," Varric mused.

"He's not here," Anders said, "Let's go upstairs."

Varric gave James a look and he shrugged before turning to follow Anders in search of Karl. It was Karl who found them, however, standing in the hallway when they returned.

Karl was an older man, in his late thirties, maybe older, and his face held little expression. James supposed it came from Circle slavery. His eyes were obscured by dark sunglasses, out of place in the middle of the night. Anders stepped forward, "Karl, I'm here."

Karl didn't move, "Anders, I know you too well."

Anders frowned, reaching and gently pulling the sunglasses away. An ugly black bruise, the worst shiner James had ever seen, obscured Karl's left eye. James had no idea what it's relevance was, but Anders backed away as if he'd uncovered a snake, "Karl, no!"

The softest of footsteps announced others in the area; they were surrounded by men. Candlelight revealed their tattoos, "Templars!" James cried.

Anders held his head as if in pain, "You will never take another Mage!" He roared, diving forward.

James watched dumbfounded as Anders reached the first Templar and tore him to pieces, literally. Blood sprayed and bones shattered, hunks of armored meat clanging to the floor. James stomach turned, but there was no time to linger, "Hawke!" Varric cried as a Templar charged forward.

James took him down with a bolt of lightning, but as soon as the magic gathered, it had disappeared. Feeling suddenly heavy and weak, James had no chance of dodging what came next. Feeling a blow to his back, James looked down to see a bloom of red spreading out from just above his navel, staining the white fabric.

James fell to his knees, stunned, before common sense kicked in and he pressed his hands to the spot, trying to slow his panicked breathing. Merrill was beside him in a moment, drawing on the pooling red to strengthen her defensive spells, protecting him with his own blood, "You'll be alright Hawke," she said, her eyebrows furrowed with effort, "Just don't die."

* * *

Anders stuffed the last of the bloody clothes into the washing machine, dousing them with bleach before returning to the sitting room of his clinic. He picked up the needle he'd stolen from the Chantry, staring at it, "I got myself shot. Again."

Anders looked up, "You're awake."

James nodded, pale from loss of blood but thanks to Anders' healing, no worse for the wear, "You never told me about that thing."

Anders glanced down at the instrument and then lifted it, pointing the tip toward his tear duct, "They drive a needle like this in through here, behind the eye socket, then they ram it back and forth until it meets no resistance." He lowered his hand, "That's how they make you Tranquil. That's what they did to Karl."

"I'm sorry about Karl," James said.

"I know they probably have more of these;" Anders said, "But the way Andrastians have to bless everything... I thought maybe I could save a few mages for a few days before they're made Tranquil, in Karl's name."

"I'm sure he'd like that," James said, trying to sit up and quickly regretting his actions.

Anders rushed to his side when he grunted, "No you don't. You get your rest. I spent the better part of last night repairing your intestines."

"Yum, who's hungry?" James muttered.

"The point is that you should take it easy for a few days," Anders said patiently, lifting James' shirt to check his healing progress, "Even magical stitches can pop sometimes."

"Before I was shot, my magic was just gone, as if I'd never had it in the first place," James said.

Anders nodded, "That's what Templars do, why they're so powerful against mages."

"They didn't try it on you?" James asked, trying to catch Anders gaze.

Anders fixed James' shirt and moved away, "Varric said you can take as long as you need. With the routes I gave them, it's going to be a bit more of an undertaking, more money."

"More money," James grumbled, "Never thought I'd get tired of earning money."

"If you need my help for anything, let me know," Anders said, "I mean anything at all."

James shifted carefully, trying to get more comfortable and at the same time avoid hurting himself again, "You could tell me what happened to you in the Chantry."

"Soon," Anders promised.

"Karl then, what happened with him?"

Anders frowned, "What happened to me... it woke him up, brought him back, but only for a moment. He..." He stopped to pull himself together, "He begged me to kill him. I did."

"You did the right thing. Living Tranquil... I can't imagine, but it must be worse than death. I would rather die."

Anders began rearranging bottles on a nearby shelf, "I won't let that happen to you," he said, "Ever."

The door slammed open, interrupting their warm moment, "You son of a bitch!" Carver shouted, storming in.

"It's alright," James told Anders as he reached for his staff, "He's my brother."

Carver marched across the room, flipping the table with James over, "Fuck you!"

James fell hard, blood seeping through and staining yet another shirt, "Ok maybe it's not alright," James choked.

Anders was there then, forcing Carver back and putting up a barrier, "What is it, brother?! This ginger nutcase wasn't enough?! You had to have Fenris too; stealing him back was worth it I hope!"

"Ginger nutcase?" Anders mused.

"I haven't-" James paused when Anders helped him up, "I haven't spoken to or seen Fenris since that night at Gamlen's. I have no earthly idea what you're talking about."

Carver paused, his mind working quickly, "You're serious. Great, then I've just fucked it up all on my own."

"What happened?" James asked.

"Oh fuck off, don't try to comfort me. I don't need you, James. I don't need anyone!" Then, just as quickly as he'd come, he was gone, leaving Anders in awed silence.

"So that was Carver," James said.


	7. IDGAFOS

Disclaimer: I don't own anything owned by Bioware etc. Also, the songs that I use as chapter titles aren't mine and belong to their respective creators and such.

* * *

A week had passed since Hawke's last bulletwound, and Varric had finally decided to put him back to work, making runs along the Wounded Coast. The hottest month of the year was certainly living up to its name, and James was spending more time wiping sweat from his eyes than actually working, "Maker I hate this place."  
"Cheer up, Hawke," Merrill comforted, "It'll be alright."  
"Yeah well I just don't see why Varric couldn't bring his lazy ass up here and pick up a box. It must be filled with snakes or poison or more explosives," he muttered.  
"Varric has other business. He would rather be here than dealing with business," Merrill said.  
"I just find it odd that he sent you and stayed home."  
Merrill paused, "What help would I be in Hightown? And besides, I don't see Anders here," she countered.  
"He doesn't do beaches," James said.  
"Isn't this a coast?" Merrill asked.  
James shrugged, "That's exactly what I said."  
"You know you're wasting a lot of breath talking," Isabela said, "The sooner we get this done the sooner I can get back to the Rose."  
James wrinkled his nose but trudged on, the two women following him, "My sister used to work at the Blooming Rose."  
"Really?" Isabela asked, "From the way you act I'd figure any member of your family would never be fun enough to set foot into a brothel. What's her name?"  
"Bethany," James said, "And I have been in brothels... a lot of them."  
"Where?" Isabela asked with a suspicious look.  
"Shut up," James muttered, "Just because I'm not paying a whore's bills doesn't mean I'm a prude. I've had sex."  
Isabela laughed, "What does that have anything to do with being a prude? Varric's told me all about you. You're Mr straight and narrow, so to speak, always doing the right thing."  
"You act like that's a bad thing," James said, "I see no reason to extort or threaten people just to get what I want, Maker forbid I kill someone without necessity. Somehow most of my fights are on behalf of all of you."  
"Even though that has nothing to do with either of us," Merrill said, "We do appreciate it."  
"Speak for yourself. I think he's a bratty little pissant," Isabela said.  
James shrugged at the look Merrill gave him and pressed on, "You can't please everyone all the time."

* * *

Merrill was so glad to be back that she went straight to the Hanged Man, up the stairs and into Varric's suite. She'd planned to wait for him there, but found the door already unlocked. Varric was on the couch, a halo of blue cigar smoke above his head. He saw Merrill and his face lit up with a smile, "Daisy," he greeted.

"Hello, Varric."

When she sat down beside him, he continued, "How was the job? Anything unexpected?"  
"Isabela and Hawke don't get along, but I don't think that's what you meant. Hawke is doing everything just the way you told him to," Merrill assured him, "Can I stop spying now?"  
"Don't call it spying; it's just being concerned with an investment," Varric said, "I want to keep an eye on him. That man he's worshiping in the sewers is bad news. I dug up some intel and-"  
"Varric," Merrill said patiently, "I am here with you, alone at a time of day when we can expect absolutely no visitors and all you can think to do is gossip?"  
"And smoke," Varric said with a smile, "Ok fine, enough girl talk, what did you have in mind, Daisy?"  
"Well," Merrill said, "It doesn't involve talking, and there's definitely no smoking."  
Varric gave her a playfully suspicious look, "The only no smoking joint I know of is the Chantry."  
Merrill laughed, "Oh Varric," she said, feigning frustration before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.

* * *

Bethany sat in one of the Chantry's upper pews, staring at her hands as she contemplated the situation she'd gotten herself into, "I should have listened to James," she whispered, looking up at the statue of the Maker, "Is this your way of punishing me? Is it because I'm a Mage? Or is it because I was a whore? I hope it's the latter, because that I can change."

When no response came, she sighed and rose, lighting one of the small red pillar candles that looked like it had burned many times before. Bethany heard a small noise and glanced up to see a woman climbing the stairs, safely out of earshot but close enough to see if Bethany muttered the curse word that she wanted to, "Maker's blessing, sister," Bethany said, trying to duck past and avoid the sister as Sebastian had instructed.  
"Hold, child," she replied, "I am Sister Patrice."  
"Pleased to meet you."  
Patrice didn't smile, "I don't believe I've seen you before. What is your name?"  
"I am," Bethany hesitated, wondering if she should use an alias, "I am..."  
"Yes?"  
"Leliana," she blurted, thinking of the Chantry woman she used to visit back at home in Lothering.  
"Leliana?" Patrice asked, eyes narrowing for a moment, "That is an Orleasian name."  
Bethany nodded, "Yes it is. My mother had many Orlaesian friends. She named me after one of them. It is the seat of the Divine after all, isn't it?"  
Patrice was unamused, "Are you one of the Lowtown volunteers?"  
"Yes, the Docks too," Bethany said.  
Patrice shivered, "Where those hornhead heathens are squatting," she muttered, "The Viscount made a mistake welcoming their kind, like casting pearls before swine... or oxen."  
"The Qunari?" Bethany asked, "Do they leave their compound? I've often wondered. Back in Ferelden there was a Qunari, a murderer that-"  
"They're all murderers, child," Patrice said, "Murderers, liars, sinners, heathens."  
Bethany smiled nervously when Patrice took her hand, "What are you doing?"  
"Come, there is something I want to show you," the woman whispered, leading Bethany down the stairs and into the eventual darkness of the Chantry's basements.  
Bethany kept up with Patrice's hurried pace, frightened by the spark in the blonde's eyes and the eager smile on her drawn face. It was the same face she'd once seen on Carver when they were children.  
He dragged her outside to show a bird he'd shot and killed with his toy gun, so proud. Even then, death had been simple and easy for Carver, such a little soldier he had been. James and Bethany felt no such certainty. Malcolm had always taught them that magic must serve "What is best in me, not that which is most base," and yet it seemed that the opposite was true for Carver. What was a mage's weakness was his strength, instinct and animal rage.

* * *

Not far away, in the Hightown Estates, Carver was indulging one of his less noble compulsions, falling-down drunk in front of Fenris' borrowed mansion and begging for the elf's heart.  
"I wish I could make you understand," Fenris growled.  
"So let me in and try!" Carver called through the heavy wooden door, his voice slurred by alcohol and tears.  
Fenris turned away, leaning against the locked door, "I've told you a dozen times. I don't love you. I don't need you, nor do I want you."  
"But that's a lie," Carver said, his muffled voice sounding more desperate than argumentative, "We both know it is."  
"I want you to leave," Fenris said, and that at least rang true.  
Carver was quiet for a moment, "Well maybe I will," he said, "Maybe I won't ever come back."  
Fenris swallowed, "That's how it should be," he said.  
"Your heart's a mess," Carver said, "You don't want anyone close because you're afraid of getting hurt. You won't even give me a chance. You told me what Denarius made you do. I can help if you'd just-"  
Fenris moved away from the door as if it were suddenly hot, stepping quickly out of earshot before the argument could continue.  
After a few moments of silence, Carver sank to the ground against the door, too devoted to leave and too drunk and forlorn to try and force his way inside. Carver Hawke's heart was broken and even though he was an adult, all he could think to do was cry.

* * *

"Come on Carver; get up," James said.  
Carver tried to jerk away, over balancing and falling to the ground, "Fuck off. I don't need your help. I don't need you."  
James was patient as he hauled his younger brother up, Anders commenting from over his shoulder, "Unfortunately for all of us, you do need someone and he's the only idiot willing to help you up out of your own puddle of piss and despair."  
"What's he doing here?" Carver asked, scowling at Anders.  
"He's a friend," James said, "So be nice."  
Carver leaned against James, "I didn't piss myself," he muttered.  
James smiled, "Technically you just went on the stoop and fell in it. Don't worry, though; I hear there's a quiet dignity in stumbling into your own puddle of humiliation."  
Anders chuckled and Carver remained quiet, "What are you two fighting about anyway?" Anders asked.  
"It wasn't a fight and it's none of your business," Carver snapped.  
"Mother says Fenris broke his heart," James said.  
Anders shook his head, "A lot of drama for such young men," he said, "You'll have your entire lives to hate each other."  
"Go tell Fenris that, magey" Carver muttered, "I'm the one trying to fix everything."  
"By shouting at him in a drunken stupor?" James asked.  
Carver scowled, "You know this is your fault anyway," he said.  
"His fault?" Anders repeated, dumbfounded, "How in the Maker's name is this his fault?"  
James held up a hand to quiet Anders, "He's probably right. Even if he isn't, it isn't worth arguing over. Lets just get him home before-"  
Carver leaned over and vomited-in the loud unceremonious way of the very drunk-and passed out. Anders placed a hand over his mouth and stumbled away, "Maker!"  
James sighed, "What no one's ever vomited in your clinic?" he muttered, hoisting the heavy younger Hawke.  
"No vomit I've ever smelled burned like that," Anders said once he'd gotten himself composed, "It smells like the ass end of a drunk dragon."  
James chuckled, "Would you mind helping me? Because he weighs as much as the ass end of a dragon too."  
"What an adventure," Anders said as he bent and lifted Carver's feet, "You Hawkes never disappoint."  
"If you think whiskey vomit is an adventure, you'll faint when you see Uncle Gamlen in a few."  
"Warning heeded."  
They managed to lug Carver back to Lotown without attracting attention of the guard-likely because the only officer who saw them was Aveline. The stairs up to Gamlen's door seemed endless.  
James was able to sneak away before Carver woke, leaving him with Leandra, "I wish he could find a hobby that didn't involve hitting me of terrorizing Hightown."  
"Perhaps he'll take up Macramé. I hear it's very rewarding," Anders suggested, "He could sell what he makes on the street."  
"As adorable as all of that sounds, I don't think he's the crafty type."  
"What do you suppose he did?" Anders asked, "To make the elf react that way? I've seen how he treats you but from the way you described Fenris I think he could hold his own."  
James smiled, "The more I think about it, the more I think that Fenris is afraid of closeness. He risked a lot asking for help with Denarius and that was just about all he was willing to give up. Anything more personal than his shoe size you might as well have been asking a wall."  
"I thought you said he doesn't wear shoes."  
James scowled playfully, "You know what I mean."  
Anders chuckled, "Kirkwall's full of people that are afraid of themselves," he said, now serious, "Seems like a waste when there's so much else to be afraid of."

* * *

A/N: I know it's short, but it's leading up to things so it's mostly a chapter of transition and foreshadowing. Thanke for the follows and reviews! See you all in Chapter 8!


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